Archive for December, 2011|Monthly archive page

Bi-Polar Bear Disappearing

They said my white-furred, ursine friend Toby was spotted in Antarctica recently.

 

But it turned out this was false, as he was sitting right next to me ordering a seal, at an outdoor café in northern Kangiqsualujjuaq , Nunavik, Canada.

 

It was -40º

 

Dear Toby is definitely not bi-polar.

 

 

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Hyper Realism

 

My friend Luigi knows nothing about painting.

 

He thinks Edward Hopper is a frog!

 

Bargain!

My son is a marketing wizard. He’s thought out a campaign for a store around the corner from us, that has fallen on hard times. Its owner is paying him big money for composing ads, printing flyers, doing radio spots, and creating a new website around an additional mail-order vehicle.

 

Their mark-up is modest, but the owners hope to make up in volume. They think they want to go national, but are trying it out locally for the New Year sales first. Franchises will become available.

 

There’s nothing like first testing a concept and you’ll agree little can go wrong here. The lead-in slogan is

 

2 SHOES FOR THE PRICE OF ONE

You can place your advance order through me, there’s a cut off moment!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Go Figure!

The American Right drools on Christian values, but in the name of ‘freedom’ rejects profoundly Christian social policy, calling it dangerous Socialism!

I think they mistake their religion for a hedge fund.

Making Merry

Ho, Ho, oh my…..

 

Oh, yeah… Ho,  Baby, Ho…!

 

And tonight Santa came, on a one-whore, open sleigh…..

 

Interminable Echos

Umberto Eco’s a bit of a kaleidoscopic nerd, overwhelming us with obscure facts and theories, but somehow forgetting to write a book. Editors seem afraid to edit, critics don’t want to be seen as ignorant. He’s got both academia and publishing by the balls, but won’t tell how he sculpted it all into a rolling stone.

 

The Name of the Rose was a non-novel, followed by a non-film with a non-actor, but hey, they were a wild success.

 

There’s no archaic semantic symbol I don’t know, he told me the other day.

 

Oh, don’t be such a semiot, I said!!!

 

Pyongyang Follies

Internally, enough numbed, kept-dumb people appear to have been tricked into thinking they’re loved. With another good number of them faking hysteria on the death of Kim Jong-Il, only to hang on to their ugly little existence, for now all they have.

Overall a good number of people having very little, still have a lot more than those having nothing at all. They fight for what little they do have by offering public grief and ‘loyalty’. This is not a condemnation per sé; most of us would possibly do the same if by some great misfortune we were born into a forbidding, self-consuming vacuum where the only choice you’re given is to become victim or executioner, nothing in between: Stalin was despicable but is still defended today by those who had a little, when the great majority owned nothing but death.

Externally, you rationally and calculatingly act out that you’re insane, building up trust, destroying it, unpredictably, repeatedly, through apparently senseless attacks, the theory that nobody attacks a certified madman with nuclear arms. Best avoiding him exactly what he needs, but not without him realising that he can never attack in any meaningful way. This sadly the strategy that has been proven right, with a little help from a lazy, big, fat neighbour.***

Yes, macabre Grand Guignol all of it! Hijacked truth, headed by an anointed bogeyman/charlatan, the only one recognisable, those keeping him there: grey, anonymous invisible, because there’s no snake to speak of without a spine coiled.

(This from my Sullen Neighbours of December 20, 2010)***

One lives far, but not too far to disturb the shit in our ghetto. He has no right to stay where he holes out, but armed himself to the teeth and acts crazy and erratic to intimidate people who’ll walk in a large circle round his place, exactly the way he wants it. When he gets hungry he smiles and acts humbly, but insults his Samaritans the minute they walk away from his doorstep. Again, exactly the way he likes things and (outside) authorities reluctant to intervene because there are children in the house as it is packed with explosives, and so the homes next to it also quite vulnerable.

He stretches for time in this manner but not his life, which is as doomed as it is deliberate. Because there’s method to his madness, he’s not crazy, as a matter of fact in his warped way he’s rational, and the proof in pudding that he’s been getting away with this for 60 years, and counting. The real problem what’s wrong lying with us, tolerating this nonsense. Its paradox that at times decency must raise a terrible fist, proving it is what it is, or die by its own complacency and impotence.

The other one lives one street over, is big and fat and rich of late and could easily take care of his small, unruly neighbour, but looking the other way because they’re family. By selling cheap stuff that nobody wants but everybody buys this one made a lot of money not paying his children, slaving away, producing all that stuff in his large basement. And now he’s made so much money that he has lent a lot of it to the same people, us, buying all his crap, only so we’ll keep on buying it.

And now the Ghetto worries we’re in hock so much, the big one will overtake us, maybe putting us also in that horrible basement. But it forgets that we really have Big Boy by the balls, setting him back half a century simply by not paying back the debt or stopping to buy the stuff, his kids growing up, having seen the light, hoping to get set free and receive a decent wage, in all their fury finally getting rid of him.

For what would he do, running out of materials he needs, his own kids having no use for what they produce: the Fat One needing us more than we need him to hold on to his house, no matter how much we owe him. A stranger than strange symbiosis like everything else in nature yet it is no accident that tigers, that most dangerous of all species, are also the most endangered species of all. Even more when made out of paper.

 

A Swan To Die For

Michael Fokine was one of Swan Lakes’ original choreographers for St Petersburg’s famous Mariinsky Ballet round the turn of the last century, Anna Pavlova dancing the part that he wrote for her on Tchaikovsky’s music.

He was some consummate dancer himself, Fokine Michael was!

Trafficking

And the headlines scream FAMED PRESIDENTIAL FISHING HOLE FOR SALE

Do they mean Monica Lewinsky?

I cun’t believe it!

That’s trafficking!

 

Crime & Punishment

BREAKING NEWS

The North Korean leader Kim Jong Il has died on a train from a heart attack.

The driver of the train was apprehended and confessed.

He’ll be executed next Tuesday.

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